


Idle Will's Progression To An Event Horizon

by wildenessat221b



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), az uses a lot of f bombs in a fairly short space of time, crowley loses it a bit, funky formatting, quiiiiite a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 15:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19890421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildenessat221b/pseuds/wildenessat221b
Summary: The power of will saved the world.It really should have crossed their minds that something so powerful can be very dangerous indeed.(crowley wills something a little too hard.)





	Idle Will's Progression To An Event Horizon

When all is said and done _and it was so nearly done and not said, done and left untied, left floating in space in ash and dust that used to be people and things and bookshops -_

All that was left was will and it was enough.

Enough and far too much.

\--------

Crowley: Angel?

Aziraphale: Yes dear?

Crowley: I think that after tonight... I'm going to go to sleep for a little while.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Oh. Alright then.

Crowley:

Crowley: Only a little while.

Crowley: Not like the nineteenth century.

Crowley: Just going to... Recharge.

Aziraphale: Well.

Aziraphale: I suppose that's sensible.

Crowley: Took it out of me a bit... The whole... Holding a burning car together with the power of imagination... Thing.

Crowley: Defying the very laws of the universe that She's rather keen to uphold... Thing.

Crowley: Stopping time itself... Thing.

Crowley: All... That... Stuff.

Aziraphale: Yes.

Aziraphale: Yes, I see.

Aziraphale: You must be...

Aziraphale: Heavens, you must be exhausted.

Crowley: A little.

Crowley:

Crowley: A little.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: I don't suppose you'll be wanting...

Aziraphale: Company?

Aziraphale:

Crowley:

Aziraphale: I could do with a nap myself.

Crowley:

Aziraphale: Lot of body swapping.

Aziraphale: Prophecy studying.

Aziraphale: Tiring stuff.

Aziraphale: Thought I might give the old sleeping lark a go.

Crowley:

Aziraphale: Well?

Crowley:

Crowley: No.

Crowley: Not yet.

Crowley: I need...

Crowley: I need to...

Aziraphale: I understand.

Crowley: Just for a while, you get it don't you, you don't think I'm -

Aziraphale: I understand.

Crowley:

Crowley: Wait for me.

Crowley:

Crowley: Please.

Crowley: You said once... That I was too fast.

Crowley: Don't overtake me now.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Meeting in the middle sounds wonderful.

Aziraphale: Sweet dreams, Crowley.

Crowley: I...

Crowley:

Crowley: Yeah, I hope so.

\--------

_(things lost between the lines:_

_nervous fingers picking at a loose thread hanging from a sofa, miracled just so that it was every bit as ratty as it had been before it was repaired by an antichrist who turned out to be quite a pleasant lad, actually. a pair of sunglasses, folded into a lap that wasn't their owner's, the bricks and mortar of emotional defence on the wrong building site. eyes that tried not to be glassy, shoulders that steeled themselves against the heaviness of the atmosphere, stiller than it had the right to be, verging on stagnant. inflection that feigned nonchalance and did it poorly, caving under the baggage of six millennia worth of unsaids and unacknowledgeds. a red hot stab of denial, clouded by a mist of shaky uncertainty that he didn't understand yet, that was lurking at the back of his mind. desperation, green and vine like, stretching out from one to the next - which 'one' exactly is irrelevant, body, life soul, lack thereof. a soft, longing smile, that didn't dare be tinged with hope but was certainly about as close as one could get. a minor miracle, ensuring that the promise of sweet dreams would be delivered.)_

\--------

(too minor. too minor by half.

or perhaps nowhere near minor enough.)

\--------

**When you wake, you'll have had a lovely dream about whatever you like best.**

In the end, Crowley slept for three months - not excessively long at all by his standards. A large proportion of it was spent in the oblivion that had had so nearly become his entire reality - or lack thereof - in a bathtub of holy water. The dreamless parts of his sleep were black and starless, silent and cold, stagnant and eerie. They reminded him of the time before Time, when he and the other Angels were all that was, before they'd been put to work and were just existing, sitting cross legged in the nothingness.

His dreams were mundane. He dreamt about chopping vegetables beside a rustic stovetop and running his hands across fabrics neatly lined up and colour coded on clothes rails. He dreamt about waving his hand into the road to hail a bus and holding his credit card between his teeth as he fumbled with loose change. He dreamt about lazing unceremoniously on the sofa and flicking between channels. He dreamt about walking without a serpentine swagger, speaking without a serpentine hiss and seeing without serpentine eyes.

His dreams weren't just mundane.

They were _human_.

**whatever you like best**

\--------

He awoke gradually, noting first the buzz of traffic outside his window, then the stiffness of his arm where it was trapped beneath his torso, then the fuzzy, dehydrated feeling in his mouth, then finally the dusty crystalline particles that had settled in the corner of his eyes.

The dreams were still rattling around his mind. He shook his head vigorously, then cracked his eyes open. The blank white ceiling greeted him. He exhaled, and his breath misted visibly above him. The season had changed and left him behind. He rolled over and swung his legs over the side of the bed, leaving the silk sheets draped around his shoulders. The floorboards were cold on the soles of his feet.

Slowly, bare feet making little sucker noises as he went, he moved towards the large window that overlooked the bustling city. Across the road, he could see people piling onto the Number 37 bus. Right on time.

That was new. That must have been -

It was inconceivable, and yet the most simple thing in the world. How Adam had spun the fabric of the universe around the knitting needles that were his nature. How he'd chosen just the right fabric colours to create a seamless patchwork, the only evidence being that some bits were just slightly too clean.

It was fascinating, Crowley thought.

What one could do if they willed it hard enough.

\--------

Crowley felt the need to ball his hand into a fist so tight that it shook in his lap as the phone rang out. He wasn't quite sure why.

"A.Z. Fell Booksellers, how may I be of assistance?"

Impersonal, automated, calculated, disinterested.

"Aziraphale?"

A short intake of breath. Crowley's world quivered in the palm of his hand.

"Crowley."

Flooded with feeling. Almost reverent. The fist relaxed.

"Well identified. Gold star."

A scoffing laugh, breathy with what Crowley would call relief, had he the courage.

"Well, you did catch me off guard, dear."

"I didn't know how long I'd need to -"

"None of that, none of that. No matter. I've been waiting."

And it was exactly what he'd wanted to hear, exactly what he'd asked to hear, and exactly the wrong thing for him to hear.

_Because that brittle, delicate seed of 'it would be so much easier if' began to sprout and a little bit of Crowley melted away._

\--------

( _nobody had ever said directly, but crowley rather suspected that black holes were invented to spite him. his stars, his finest work, his proudest achievement. those glorious pockets of light that he'd pressed between his palms, caressed with his fingertips, whispered to as he'd hung them - 'don't you worry, i'll be back soon.'_

_all doomed to destroy themselves._

_all doomed to destroy everything._

_the humans, as was their tendency, had put a name to the point when something is sucked in to a black hole never to be seen again. an 'event horizon.' sounds mundane, really. pleasant even. sounds like the name of a canvas splashed with soft watercolour, or an album of gentle song._

_it certainly didn't sound like a turning point, and definitely not something to be worried about.)_

\--------

He'd suggested the Ritz, but Aziraphale's agreement had been lackadaisical, which simply wouldn't do. It was the only the second day of the rest of their lives during which both were conscious, anything less than positively thrilled was unsatisfactory. They decided to drive around the city for a while, perhaps keeping an eye out for some of Adam's handiwork, and try somewhere new if they found it.

Crowley twirled the keys of the Bentley around his fingers as he bobbed down the stairs, limbs loose and languid and humming softly under his breath. Outside, the trees were dusted with frost, which crunched under his feet as he crossed the road and seemed to settle on the exposed portion of his neck. His fumbling fingers grappled for a moment with the door handle, then he slipped into the driver's seat and let the slightly musty warm air flow over him.

Adam had done a good job with the car. It felt new and shiny without feeling different, as though it had been coated in clear varnish. The details were all there - the slight discolouration on the handles born of decades of use, the still empty fuel gauge, the sun-damaged paled patch of leather on the dashboard. Crowley raised two fingers to brush delicately against it. Familiar. Safe.

He pushed the keys into the ignition and turned. The Bentley made a spluttering noise. Crowley frowned. Tried again. Another splutter.

"What exactly do you think you're playing at?" He muttered under his breath.

Third time lucky, that's what they said isn't it? More spluttering. He removed the keys for fear of a 'clunk.' He hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, and let out a growl from the back of his throat.

"Come on, you're meant to be firing on all possible cylinders, what's up with you?"

As if as an answer, the Bentley did something she'd never done before. A pinprick of light like a red dwarf - the fuel light. Actually indicating that there was no fuel and that was a problem.

"Oh." Crowley tilted his head to the side. "Hungry?"

The blinking grew faster. Crowley hummed. "Alright. Odd."

He shrugged, opened the door and locked the Bentley behind him.

He ended up being forty-five minutes to meet Aziraphale, who greeted him with an irritated pout and an, "And it's me who needs to master the art of mobile communication is it, my dear?"

Crowley shrugged apologetically, which shifted into a shiver. Aziraphale's pout relaxed slightly, diluted with sympathy. He reached behind him and turned up the thermostat a couple of notches.

"Sorry. Car was out of fuel."

Aziraphale blinked a couple of times then frowned.

"Hasn't it been out of fuel for... Ninety-two years?"

"Yeah. But today it didn't want to start without fuel."

"Oh." A pause. "Odd."

Crowley hummed in agreement. He walked around Aziraphale to collapse into a squashy patchwork armchair and folded his arms around his knees. "Had to walk to the garage. S'bloody cold out there. Give me a minute to warm up, then we'll go."

Aziraphale nodded slowly, then sank to perch primly on the edge of the coffee table beside where Crowley had folded himself into a rather neat ball. Absentmindedly, he miracled a cup of cocoa and held it out. Crowley took it with a grateful grunt, wrapping his long fingers around the body of the mug, and let the steam ghost over his chin. The lines of discomfort on his face began to smooth out. Aziraphale smiled softly.

Then, his eyes drifted down the cocoa and a thought blossomed in his head.

"Couldn't you have just miracled some fuel? You didn't need to get yourself all cold and wet... Come dripping into my shop like a disobedient border collie who didn't come back when called."

Crowley stilled mid-sip. The thought had genuinely not occurred to him. It didn't disturb him quite as much as it perhaps should have.

"Yeah." He said quietly. "I s'pose I could have."

\--------

Aziraphale: Stay with me tonight.

Aziraphale:

Azirphale: I've missed you.

Crowley:

Crowley: Yeah.

Crowley:

Crowley: Yeah, alright.

Crowley: I'll bunk down on one of your armchairs while you do... whatever it is your nightly pottering entails.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Actually...

Aziraphale: And I don't know how this hasn't come up in conversation before...

Aziraphale: In the upstairs flat, there's a rather lovely bedroom.

Aziraphale: With a rather lovely bed.

Aziraphale: Big one.

Aziraphale: I'm not much in the mood for pottering tonight.

Aziraphale:

Crowley:

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: I've missed you.

Crowley:

Crowley: Oh.

\--------

( _the concept that within companionship, opposites attract has never really made an awful lot of sense to crowley._

_there was an element of truth, of course. a balancing element, an element that ensured that there was always one to bring the other back from the brink, or keep tethered to the ground, or with the internal compass pointed towards home._

_but that must have been where it ended._

_he certainly hoped that the reason why he and aziraphale awoke tangled up in each other rather than with an expanse of bed between them as there had been when they'd fallen asleep was more to do with their similarities than their differences.)_

\--------

It was so simple that it _hurt_.

There were no awkward conversations, no discussions about labels, all that had previously been unspoken remained that way, except now there were actions to fill the silence.

There were two cups of tea made per boil of the kettle, there was a parallel shuffling under the bedcovers each night, there were feather light points of contact on the back of necks and the crook of shoulders that were _surely a little unnecessary_ and there were house plants appearing around the shop that looked suspiciously like the ones from Crowley's flat and felt suspiciously like a coaxing method.

And like a cat to catnip, he followed, locking the door to his flat and posting the keys through the letterbox. No going back.

And it was all he wanted, this tiny pocket of his existence, where he and Aziraphale were whatever they were to one another - he had no interest on putting a label on it but fuck was it different and fuck was it _blissful_ \- and he finally felt like he could breathe.

He didn't want the six thousand years that came before, and he certainly didn't want the indefinite amount of Time (or maybe not - the whatever there was before the garden, he was a little hazy on such things) that came before that.

The complications and the arguments and the tempting and the smiting and the sleeping for a century and the waiting and the fleeting glances and the feelings of _wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong_ all pressed down on his spine, making him feel quite the hunchback and nowhere near worthy of Notre-Dame.

Six thousand years held in the mind is too much for anyone.

They _hurt_ and he wanted them _gone_.

\--------

_**he awoke and they were gone and his eyes were rainforest green** _

\--------

Aziraphale: Oh, heavens.

\--------

**_it was what he had wanted and what he had willed_ **

\--------

Aziraphale: Oh Crowley, your eyes what has-

\--------

**_except he didn't know that anymore_ **

\--------

Aziraphale: What would possess you to-

\--------

_**all he knew was that aziraphale** _

\--------

Aziraphale: Why are you looking at me like that?

\--------

**_(who was now all he knew)_ **

\--------

Aziraphale: Like you aren't there anymore.

\--------

  
_**was crying** _

\--------

Aziraphale: Are you...

\--------

_**and afraid** _

\--------

Aziraphale: Are you still there?

\--------

_**and he had no idea why** _

\--------

Aziraphale: Crowley please-

\--------

_**so he ran** _

\--------

A Brief Itinerary Of Things Crowley Knew:

\- Aziraphale was his entire world  
\- Aziraphale was afraid  
\- Aziraphale was upset  
\- This would not stand  
\- Aziraphale was afraid because of him  
\- Aziraphale was upset because of him  
\- This would not stand  
\- Aziraphale was good  
\- The thing upsetting him must have been not good  
\- The not good thing was Crowley's fault  
\- This would not stand  
\- There is one surefire way to be good again

\--------

crowley's lungs were itching and crowley's throat was constricting and crowley's feet were burning and crowley didn't understand why

he said nothing about it to the priest who was nodding solemnly at him from the opposite pew

what he did say was

"i've been bad and i want to be good again"

and what the priest said was

"do not worry, my child"

and then

"all can be cleansed"

and crowley said

"now"

and then

"do it now"

\-------

It was most unusual, Father Thompson pondered.

Normally such things were done with an audience - born again types tend to want to flaunt it, and good on them, naturally.

But this young man seemed like a very different kind of 'born again.' He seemed to embody it in a far more literal sense somehow. He was curling in on himself seemingly as much as he could possibly manage, glancing around the room skittishly as though something was going to jump out and grab him and all in all, had the air of nervous vulnerability of a newborn fawn.

"Now. Do it now."

He was most persuasive.

Father Thompson usually had an assistant - a bright eyed young deacon or one of the parish's few organ players with the appropriate bone structure perhaps - to heave off the infernal slab of stone. But the impromptu nature of the young man's arrival meant no such luck this time. His back heaved as he grunted his way through the manoeuvre. The man just watched him and the emptiness in his eyes caused Father Thompson to feel no malice whatsoever. He coughed chestily once the job was done, then smiled gently.

"It will be a full immersion."

"Ye-"

And all of a sudden, Father Thompson was standing in his living room. His cat, a fat ginger thing called Margaret wound around his leg and looked up at him inquisitively. He had no answer for her.

\--------

**CROWLEY NO NO NO NO NO GET AWAY FROM THERE WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU STUPID STUPID SERPENT**

aziraphale what are you doing h

**CROWLEY FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS - STEP BACK STEP BACK STEP BACK PLEASE STEP BACK**

i didn't understand why you were upset so I tried to be

**WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T UNDERSTAND WHY I WAS**

or why you were scared

**OH YES THIS ISN'T A FRIGHTENING PICTURE AT ALL - HA - BUGGER BUGGER BUGGER SHHHH...**

i can't

**FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK**

i can't remember

**FUCK FUCK FUCK**

aziraphale

**FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK**

please calm down

**I CAN'T CALM -**

please

please calm down

and listen

\--------

Aziraphale: Okay.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Okay, I'm not quite calm but I'm...

Aziraphale: I'm certainly listening.

Crowley:

Crowley: Thank you.

Crowley:

Crowley:

Crowley:

Crowley: All I can remember

Crowley:

Crowley: Is you.

Crowley:

Crowley: And I know that there was something before that...

Crowley: I just don't know what.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: What do you mean?

Crowley:

Crowley: All I know is...

Crowley: You and...

Crowley: The bookshop and...

Crowley: You take your cocoa with far too much cream...

Crowley: And your eyelashes flutter when you're asleep...

Crowley: And your feet are warm even when it's cold outside...

Crowley: Even at midnight and in the dead of Winter.

Crowley: That's all I have.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Okay

Aziraphale: Okay so what you're saying is...

Aziraphale: You only remember...

Aziraphale: Or know, rather...

Aziraphale: Us... Since we became... Different.

Crowley:

Crowley: I don't...

Crowley: I don't know.

Crowley: I don't know what we're different from.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Crowley you have to remember.

Aziraphale: You have to remember yourself.

Aziraphale: You're in so much danger if you don't, you're in six thousand years worth of danger.

Crowley: What do you mean six thousand-

Aziraphale: Crowley.

Aziraphale: Crowley what do you think you are?

Crowley:

Crowley: What do you-

Aziraphale: Do you think you're a human, Crowley?

Crowley:

Crowley:

Crowley:

Aziraphale: ...fuck.

\--------

it was will that had forsaken him,

it was will that would bring him back.

\--------

"Okay... Okay, Crowley..."

Aziraphale swallowed both the saliva pooling in his mouth and his pain. They felt like glass.

"I need you to know... how afraid I was, just now. Every iota of my being was positively alight with burning pinpricks of acute, fear induced agony. I thought my heart was going to leap out of my mouth and splatter on the floor. I thought my eyes would burst from my skull, that my body would evaporate on the spot. My entire world was reduced down to that one moment, and I thought it would stay that way forever and I would never escape."

He was trembling. Tears were pooling in his eyes.

Crowley didn't understand.

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't darling, but I need you to. I need you to want to."

He wrapped his fingers around Crowley's wrist as gently as idle ivy climbing up a cottage wall. He pressed his nose into his neck and spoke, warm and wet, one with his skin.

"I need you to want to remember who we are, what we fought for and what we have to be afraid of."

A deep, shuddering breath.

" _I need you to want to know how extraordinary we are."_

\--------

_falling falling falling garden apple angel (falling again) ark cross wine swords globe guillotine park fight bomb church smile books flask picnic armageddon airfield love love love love love love love love_

Aziraphale caught him just before he fell against the consecrated ground.

\--------

He came to in their bed, but not entirely. Tendrils of confusion of the deepest kind were running through his bones.

He grunted and whined into the self-induced darkness (he wasn't opening his eyes, not yet) as scales tried desperately to blossom along his back and creep up his neck, his whole being craving the simple security of his snake form.

"Shh, darling," said a gentle voice, as familiar as the world itself. "Go in there if you need to."

A thumb stroked across his forehead, and he finally relented with a hissing sigh. The dandelion-fluff touches of the warm hand didn't stop as he wound his serpentine body around itself.

\--------

Three days later, Crowley emerged into the bookshop with his hair ruffled, his gait awkward and his arms wrapped around his midriff. He folded himself into the worn leather sofa, knees tucked under his chin.

Aziraphale leaned on the back rest cautiously.

"Are you back?"

Crowley smiled flatly, and brought his forefinger and thumb up around his glasses. He tipped them forwards. His eyes were yellow.

Aziraphale cupped the back of his disheveled head and kissed him on the cheek _oh so reverently._

The smile wasn't so flat anymore.

\--------

Crowley: I lost my mind a little, I think.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Perhaps.

Aziraphale: Perhaps a little.

Aziraphale: Everyone's entitled I suppose.

Crowley: You think so?

Aziraphale: Oh, of course.

Aziraphale: Only once though.

Aziraphale: Don't do it again.

Crowley:

Crowley: Don't you do it either.

Crowley: Don't you _fucking_ dare.

\--------

almost all was said, almost all was done.

\--------

"I love you."

"I love you too. So much."

"Let's stay together. And stay us forever."

"Sounds like a plan. Straightforward and not at all ineffable."

\-------

All was said, all was done, the will was spoken and it was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Well wasn't that a fun-fest. 
> 
> I'm getting weirder with formatting, because it's fun. Whether it actually enhances the content or not is up to you to decide. Haha. Ha. 
> 
> Please drop a comment if you have a minute... They make my day! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
